


Even if the words don't sound right

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blood and Gore, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Scent Marking, Torture, True Mates, Werewolf Mates, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter nights in Beacon hills are supposed to be long, cold and cozy. Wrapped in a blanket, Stiles is used to spend them in front of his TV, playing videogames and watching re-runs of old cop shows until spring. But this time everything is different and with one human kidnapped and tortured by a stray Omega and a blue moon on the rise, the pack around Derek is running out of time.</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>And so is Stiles.</i><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Even if the words don't sound right

Startled by his own pain-filled groan, Stiles shot awake.

“What the...” he mumbled, voice low and his tongue so heavy it felt like the worst hang-over in the history of underage drinking. Leaden weights seemed to be attached to his lids and shoulders and with his head full of cotton wool he tried to swallow around a throat that was clogged with bile.

“Don't move,” a dry voice warned to his left. It was close. _Too close_. And it was only then that Stiles realized that there was a reason he couldn't move: arms clasped behind his back and shoeless feet firmly planted against cold concrete floor, he was tied to a chair, hard ropes biting into wrists and ankles. His socks were soaked with ice water and his toes had gone numb long ago, his skin aching with the violent shocks of goose-bumps. A sharp pain throbbed behind his forehead, spreading throughout his body in waves and making him cringe.

“Don't move, don't move, puppy.” a voice crooned and Stiles couldn't help but gag at the feeling of hot, stinky breath ghosting across his cheek and neck.

“What the fuck do you want, dude?” he croaked and was mildly surprised at the slur in his voice as it resounded from the blank walls. Finally able to crack an eye open, Stiles succeeded in wrenching himself out of the crippling grip of unconsciousness, his chest heaving against the restrains as he fought through the sluggish haze that blurred his vision and had his mind spinning.

“Shhh, it's all right, little one. It's not you I want,” the stranger cooed and another huff of breath lapped against the boy's skin like waves the shoreline.

Stiles snorted. “Then why the fuck did you kidnap _me_ , stupid?” he coughed, retching again when he felt the stranger's finger scratching across the nape of his neck. It wasn't exactly a good idea to insult the guy who had tied him to a stool after knocking him out and dragging him here -wherever _here_ was-and Stiles knew it, but at this point he could care less. He had been assaulted in a parking lot, beaten up, spat on and felt up by rough, dirty fingers. He had lost both his shoes and his clothing was drenched in his own blood, ice water and what appeared to be werewolf drool. What else could possibly happen, really?

“Because _he_ will come and get you. _He_ 'll come and make sure you're safe and then I can take... I can–” The stranger was panting by now, his tongue darting out to nervously wet his chapped lips.

Stiles felt his brows furrow in confusion. “Dude, seriously? _Who_ are you talking about?”

The Omega gave made a vague gesture and even bothered to crouch down next to Stiles, hunkering over the boy's lap, fingers curling around Stiles' bare ankles. “The _Alpha,_ ” he rasped as he rubbed the greasy skin of his chin against the human's jean-clad knee.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Stiles choked out, biting back a groan as he felt his brain rattling against his skull.

“We said no more lies, little human,” the wolf snarled and reminded Stiles by burying a pair of pointy claws in the soft flesh of Stiles' thigh. They had talked before, when they had arrived in the building. Stiles had dangled from the Omega's shoulder, nose bloodied and swollen, eyes screwed shut against the yellow light after what felt like hours in the darkness of the woods.

“I don't- are you retarded or something? I told you before I don't know anything about Alphas or fucking werewolves!” Stiles bellowed. He really had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

The Omega curled his lower lip back to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth, the fangs yellow in the dim light as they were stained with gore and –oh god, was that flesh? Did that guy seriously eat something _raw_ while Stiles was unconscious? “No lies,” the wolf rasped again and forced his claws deeper into Stiles' leg, drawing blood. “I can smell him all over you, anyway. You _reek_ of him.”

Feeling hysteric laughter bubbling up in his chest, Stiles bit his tongue in a desperate attempt to stay calm. The fog in front of his eyes became thicker again with every passing second and his pulse was skyrocketing under the Omega's painful touch. The stench of dried blood, dirt and sour sweat was everywhere, making Stiles retch every time he managed to drag another chug of stale night air into his lungs.

“Yeah, no offense dude, but if there's only one of us who's in desperate need of a shower, it's not me,” the boy slurred as he tried to straighten up, his sore, stiff muscles groaning from hours of disuse.

“You can protest all you want, little human,” the Omega snarled as he let go of Stiles again, pushing himself to his feet. “But _he_ 'll be here soon and then– ”

“I don't know who you're talking about!” Stiles was full on yelling now, his voice booming in the mostly empty room and his lower lip quivering. “You have the wrong human and you're a fucking psychopath. You don't even make sense!”

The Omega narrowed his pale yellow eyes, zoning in on Stiles' bruised and battered face. “You can't fool me, little puppy,” he rumbled. “I can hear your lies, can pluck them right from the tip of your nimble little tongue.” With a snarl the wolf surged forward, chest crashing bodily into Stiles and almost knocking them both flat on the floor. “And next time you try to pull that crap on me I'm gonna rip it out, you hear me? I'm gonna rip your fucking tongue out and send it to your precious Alpha. Don't fuck with me, human.” Sticking his face into Stiles', the Omega gnashed his teeth pointedly before flinging himself out of the boy's reach again and just like that, knocking him square across the temple, sending Stiles back into the sleek, black embrace of unconsciousness.

 ♦ 

The next awakening was even more unpleasant. Pale sunlight filtering through the cracks in the roof and ice water steadily dripping down on his bare neck, Stiles found himself alone. The Omega was gone, or hiding somewhere amongst the debris piled up in the far corner, and the boy was grateful for the absence of stench and constant touching. Somewhere underneath his sluggish thoughts he registered the danger of his situation, that this bat-shit crazy Omega guy was the only one keeping him alive, but he really couldn't be bothered right now. With his throat dry and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, every inhale felt like he was chewing on sand and his lungs went tight under the shallow heaving of his chest. The pounding inside his head had increased by a hundred points and every throb plucked a quiet moan from Stiles' mouth, sending a spike of pain down his spine and his thoughts reeling.

He had been running a few errands in the twilight of a gloomy winter's day, getting the vegetables from the 24h store his dad had miraculously forgotten again. He had planned on seeing Scott afterward for a few rounds of Halo, hanging out a bit before Allison returned from her holidays with her dad, when the guy had caught him off-guard, knocking him flat on the slush-covered concrete and picking him up with a wolfish grin.

“Come here, puny human,” he had drawled as he'd clawed at Stiles' clothing, ripping the fabric and pulling him close through the sludge. “You're gonna serve me well.” Afterward, he'd heedlessly crashed his giant fist against the boy's head, hurling Stiles into darkness the same second his hard werewolf-knuckles made acquaintance with Stiles' already bruised temple.

After what felt like hours of falling, falling, falling Stiles had found the strength to fight back to the surface, gasping and wailing in the werewolf's grip as he had been dragged away in fireman's carry, legs and head bobbing uselessly against greasy clothing and hot, steely muscles. Screaming and pleading had proved to be futile and when he started getting cocky, the Omega had sent him back into the cold, empty unconsciousness he'd come from with a single blow against his jaw.

That was two days ago, if Stiles' sense of time hadn't been compromised by the repeated knock-outs he had gathered over the hours since he'd been captured. Two days of being tied to a fucking chair in the most uncomfortable position ever, two days of on and off dozing, of feeling his blood trickling down his chin and soaking his clothing. Two days drenched in ice water and sludge, two days of freezing his balls off and –Jesus, when was the last time he had put something in his stomach besides water? And oh yeah, two days of worrying his lips bloody in anticipation of when the Omega's temper would snap for good.

The sound of a heavy metal door being kicked shut stirred Stiles' attention and squinting he watched the Omega approach him. It was the first time there was some actual daylight and Stiles took a few seconds to take in the wolf's appearance: the greasy, ginger hair sticking out from his head and spreading down his shoulders, blood –most definitely Stiles'– caking the wiry curls on his bare chest, the bulky form, the sharp angled face and claw-crested feet under a pair of mud-stained, ripped pants. That guy looked like a fucking savage, more wolf than man, and yep, there it was again. The _stench._

“You're awake,” the Omega stated matter-of-factly as he strolled past the human to rummage around the room.

Stiles shuddered out a breath. “Don't wanna miss a beat of all the action,” he muttered weakly, groaning as he tried to struggle into a more comfortable position but only succeeding in pulling the damn rope tighter around his wrists and ankles.

“So witty,” the wolf mumbled as he crowded into Stiles' space again, exhaling into his face.

“Dude, have a fucking mint, would ya?” the boy blurted out, a wave of nausea washing over him at the foul smell flooding his senses, and he had to wrench back a gagging cough.

The Omega laughed at that, a harsh, cringe-worthy sound like steel scraping against stone. “I can see what he likes about you, pet,” he slurred as he settled on top of a stony pile opposite Stiles.

“Geez, thanks, bro,” Stiles spat. “And I hate to break it to you, but _he_ doesn't like me one bit.”

It was a blatant lie and they both knew it for Stiles' heart stuttered at his words. Fucking werewolf hearing. It had been that way for a long time, Derek preferring to smash Stiles into walls and his face against steering wheels instead of actually bonding with him as part of the pack. But things had changed during the last few months. _Significantly_ changed. Their previous, almost violent relationship had gradually morphed into something more settled, something soft, and if Derek was a sourwolf these days it was mostly pretending and half-assed death-glares instead of empty threats and pointy claws.

“I thought I made my point clear last night, human,” the Omega shook his head. “Stop lying to me–”

“Or you'll rip my tongue out, yeah I got the message. Loud and clear,” Stiles cut in, biting the damned organ afterward. _Seriously_ , what the fuck was wrong with him?

The wolf's smile was superior, predatory, monstrous and spiked with too much teeth. “That's right,” he mused as he fumbled for a bottle of water, hurling it into the boy's lap. “See that? It's all yours, but first we're gonna do some real talk.”

Stiles felt his throat going impossibly tighter at the sight of fresh, untouched water and shrugging he tore his eyes away from the bottle, signaling his willingness. If he wanted to survive this whole thing –whatever kind of stupid power struggle it was– he needed to play along with the rules for once.

“What's he like, your Alpha?”

The boy huffed out a short laugh. “Who? Scowly McGrump? What should he be like? He's a werewolf. You're all the same too me: too big, too strong, too rude.”

The Omega's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline and Stiles felt a pang inside his chest, an aching spot that reminded him painfully of Derek and the way he managed to communicate using nothing _but_ his eyebrows.

“Too rude, huh? Seems like you met the wrong kinda guys,” the Omega suggested after a few moments of silent assessing. “But don't worry, it'll be different when you're _mine_.”

Stiles stuttered out a cough as he felt his pulse spiking, skyrocketing into unknown heights and thrumming right beneath his skull. “Yours?” he croaked, wincing at the hitch in his timid voice.

“What do you think this is all about, puppy?” the Omega sneered.

“I dunno, some sort of sick power trip, maybe?”

The wolf was up and in Stiles' space within the blink of an eye, pushing his face into the boy's and his bulky form against Stiles' shuddering body. “I could kill you right here, pet,” he snarled, hands curling into the soft flesh of Stiles' hips, bruising it. “You think you're so smart but we both know you're scared shitless and this–” he made a vague gesture, including Stiles' hunched form and the nervous tremble of his lower lip he tried to hold back so fiercely– “is just a facade. I can smell the panic on you so stop pretending, boy. You're just making it worse.” And just like that the Omega crushed his fist against Stiles' cheek, tearing the already swollen skin apart and leaving it heavily bruised and bleeding.

Groaning Stiles slouched a bit deeper into the stool, ears ringing and vision momentarily grayed out. “C-Can't imagine how you could m-make it any worse, dude,” he slurred as he tried to compose himself somewhat.

“Huh, have you learned nothing while you were with your petty Alpha, human?”

“Wasn't paying attention.”

The Omega's claws dug into Stiles' skin as he tilted his head up, forcing his stinky breath down the boy's throat and his piercing stare into honeyed amber eyes. “Well, you _will_ pay attention when I make you watch while I shred your Alpha to pieces, my pet.”

Stiles managed not to flinch but still his heart skipped a beat at the notion of Derek getting torn apart by filthy claws. “'M not your pet.”

“Not _yet,_ ” the Omega corrected smugly, toothy sneer in place again. “But soon you will be part of _my_ pack. Ya'll will, you and your little friends. But don't worry, _you_ will always be special to me, human. We will mate–”

“What the fuck?” Stiles cut in, voice still hazy from the blow the wolf had just landed. Blood trickling down his neck, he tried to shrink away from the Omega's grip. “I'm no one's mate for fuck's sake, I'm not–”

The Omega's growl was feral, brutish and a clear warning. “You're lying again, pet. You're lying though I told you not to.” Releasing the boy's chin he pushed his claw beneath the torn skin on Stiles' cheek, tugging sharply, drawing more blood and pulling painful moans from the human's chest.

“You're completely bonkers...” Stiles choked out, eyes fluttering shut under the sheer onslaught of the wolf's body, his stench, his intense gaze, his hands all over Stiles' body.

“Maybe,” the Omega shrugged. “But I can smell _him_ , he's all over you. Here–” he pushed his nose against Stiles' blood-stained cheek, sniffing like a overgrown dog– “and here.” He shifted until his big, wild face lay flush against the boy's neck, nose rubbing against Stiles' pulse point and burning the smooth skin with rough stubble.

Stiles choked on his breath at the sensation, gagging, and for once at a complete loss for words. The wolf was heavy, suffocating, overwhelming as he pressed into the boy's body, hands roaming over Stiles' chest and belly and slipping beneath his soaked hoodie.

“Such a sweet smell,” the Omega rasped as he felt the human up, grip too tight, claws still out and scratching, bruising, _hurting_. “Gonna kill your Alpha and make you mine. _Mine_.”

Stiles didn't even realize his mouth opened when he hissed “good luck with that,” before wrenching out of the Omega's crippling touch and throwing up on the floor, stomach heaving and watery goo sloshing against the concrete floor until the world became dark again.

 ♦ 

It was the night of a blue moon and Derek felt the wolf pacing restless beneath his skin. Fueled by rage and livid with worry, the beast ran riot against his human restrains and Derek was weak.

“We can't wait any longer,” he roared from where he stood, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms firmly crossed in front of his chest as if to hold the animal in. “It's been twenty-four hours already.”

The teenagers around the table fell silent and Isaac actually shrunk into the cushions of the arm chair he had dragged over earlier.

Erica was first to regain her composure. “But we don't know where to look. There's no scent trail–”

“And if there was, it would be buried under snow and slush by now,” Boyd finished, voice wavering.

Scott scoffed. “Then we have to find another way.”

“Glad we're on the same page,” Derek huffed as he returned to the table his pack was grouped around, the teenagers hovering over a crumbled map in the yellow light of Derek's living room.

“Let's go through it, again,” Allison started but was cut off by Derek's involuntary growl, low and sharp and threatening. He didn't mean to, but his wolf was furious and was driving Derek out of his mind. It itched to shift and run and hunt down the filth that had dared to tear Stiles away from its grip.

“We can't wait, time's running out on us,” he snarled and balled his fist on the table top, forcing his claws back into blunt finger nails. His eyes darted from face to face before flitting to the pile of wood that had been a chair only yesterday. Derek had smashed it against the wall as soon as he got Scott's message, informing him that they had found the Jeep abandoned in a parking lot, and it was still lying there, discarded, ruined– a heap of wood reminding him how easily things could break.

The pack had spent the night out in the woods, searching for any traces of the boy but it was no use. Weather, odds and the whole goddamn world seemed to be against them and Derek thought he might go insane with the feeling of loss pounding through his veins.

Erica's hand was a warm and soothing weight on the back of Derek's neck when she leaned in, offering comfort. “But we can't run around like a bunch of headless chickens either,” she pleaded, for once the reasonable one. “Batman needs us to be smart, okay?”

Derek whined in response, but knowing that Erica –and the rest of the pack– was right he leaned onto his forearms to eye the map. “Go on.”

“As I was saying,” Allison resumed, hands splayed on the table. “We're not the only ones looking for the Omega.”

“What? Who else?” Isaac chimed in.

“Hunters, I suppose?” Derek snarled, jaw tightening when Allison confirmed his assumption with a sharp nod. “How many?”

“Six. And they didn't exactly seem fresh when they stalked into our office tonight, bragging about their previous skills for no other reason than to annoy the hell out of my dad.”

Boyd and Scott grunted in unison, Erica ground her teeth. “What are they doing here anyway? I thought Beacon Hills was Argent territory?”

“We're humans, we don't have territories, Erica,” Allison reminded her patiently as her brows furrowed. “And with a stray Omega killing people in the woods at random, what did you exactly expect to happen?”

“At random...” Derek muttered. “At random, mhhh. How many victims do we have?”

Scott fumbled with a stack of papers, the lettering looking suspiciously like the Sheriff's handwriting. “Four: three women, one guy over the last six weeks.”

“Where?”

It took Scott a good minute to point out the different positions on the map where the bodies had been found by the police and, in one case, a clueless jogger. There was a pattern.

“And where exactly had the wolf been spotted?” Allison asked, catching up on Derek's train of thought.

“In the parking lot,” Scott replied dryly, features contorting into a worried grimace. “Down by the creek, near the shopping mall, on the–”

“On the main road, I saw him on the main road,” Isaac interrupted, breathing labored. His curls bobbed frantically when he got to his feet to look over the map. “There.”

Derek nodded. Definitely a pattern. It wasn't much, but close enough.

“Well, I guess it's safe to assume he's camping somewhere around here,” Allison concluded after she'd marked down all the places where the corpses had been discarded and the Omega had been stupid enough to show himself. Thin, red lines ran over the paper when the huntress leaned back, bold curves meeting on various spots to map out a rough pattern.

Scott knocked his stool down when he rushed to his feet the same second Derek jumped into action. “Let's go then,” he growled impatiently just to be interrupted by Allison.

“Not yet, Scott,” she cooed and brushed a soothing hand over the wolf's flank, easing the violent tremor in the teenager's sleek muscles. “With Jackson and Lydia in Aspen, we're two members of the pack short and we need to make a plan-”

“Fine. Go ahead,” Derek gritted out as he screwed his eyes shut, painstakingly regaining control over his wolf, pushing it back into the restraints of his hot flesh. “Make plans, draw a picture of it, share with the class but. Do. It. Now.”

To her credit Allison managed not to flinch at the Alpha's bitten out words. “Okay. I was listening when the hunters were talking to my dad.” She lay a finger against the map. “They're going to be positioned here, here and here, in pairs of two. They're heavily armed.”

“Are we talking Wolfsbane bullets?” Boyd grunted, grimacing at the collective wince of the group.

“Mountain ash grenades and Wolfsbane-coated _everything_ is more like it,” Allison explained, expression drawn tight. “They're good at what they're doing, quick and precise and they don't take any chances.”

The pack nodded, sharing a grim expression.

“We need to distract them then,” Isaac mused, launching himself in the tight space between Erica and Boyd, draping his arms around their shoulders. “And I know the perfect team for that competition.” He gave a shit-eating grin. “Am I right, Trio Infernale?”

 ♦ 

The Omega was gone again when Stiles pried an eye open. Shadows huddled in the corners of the messy room, the blank walls cast in fitful silhouettes by the light of the dawning sun outside the building. It had started to snow again though it was more sleet than anything else, icy cold flakes of slush steadily dripping on Stiles' head, melting on his skin and soaking into his already frozen-stiff clothes. Wincing, he realized that he was going to die of hypothermia. Or wait no– he'd die of dehydration first. The water bottle lay still in his lap, but with his hands bound tightly he could do jack with it, aside from staring and thirsting and wetting his chapped lips with what was left of his tacky saliva.

Tearing his thoughts away from the crippling image of him dying amidst the filth of a run-down building in the middle of nowhere, Stiles tried to focus on something else. But with his Adderall missing, his brain seemed to mind the attempted distraction, wandering defiantly to his dad instead. At this point, the Sheriff must have been furious with worry and Stiles could practically see him roaming around in the forest; restless, face pale and haggard, a perfect target for any batshit crazy predator within a ten mile radius.

The thought nearly gave Stiles whiplash and with a quiet sob slipping out of his chest he slumped deeper into the hard stool, muscles protesting and tendons groaning under the strain. Squirming around for a moment, Stiles experimented with different positions and finally settled on the least painful one, nose burrowed in the collar of his sweater and eyes fluttered shut. Cold was pin-pricking down his spine and he couldn't feel his toes anymore. The tips of his fingers had gone numb hours ago and with the constant downpour, he didn't see any chance of actually surviving the upcoming night. Pushing his face a little deeper into the cold fabric of his hoodie, he took in a long inhale and– yeah, he _was_ chasing the faint scent of Derek between the threads. He was a dying teenage boy; no one could judge him for seeking shelter in the memories he'd created over the last few months.

And maybe that was the whole problem right there, huh? 'Cause Stiles would bet his ass the Omega wouldn't have dreamed about Stiles being Derek's _property_ if he hadn't been drenched in the werewolf's scent in the first place. But hanging around with the Alpha and occasionally crashing on his sofa seemed to make you a fucking Omega-magnet. Go figure.

For a few minutes, Stiles tried really hard to regret his recent decisions to spend more time with Derek, even outside the pack's meetings and wolfy-bonding evenings in front of the Alpha's flat screen when all eight teenagers were sprawled out on the fluffy cushions as some movie played in the background. But besides from being stuck in his current situation, Stiles couldn't for the life of him rue the hours he'd spent watching Derek plowing through the fridge and making surprise burritos from scratch in the middle of the night. He couldn't be sorry for all the times he'd lazily propped his feet in the werewolf's lap while watching re-runs of The Walking Dead, Derek's hands unconsciously wrapped around Stiles' slim ankles. Or the shared breath when they ran with the pack, the companionable silence as they made their way through the sleeping woods. He couldn't repent the jokes and pokes between Derek's ribs as they were bantering, the barbeques they had in the backyard of the Hale mansion and the ensuing drunkenness, Derek's trademark death glare included. And most of all he couldn't regret the night when Derek had crashed on top of him, face smooshed into the crook of his neck and Stiles' fingers lazily scratching the wolf's scalp as he listened to Derek's soft, steady breath.

Feeling his chest constrict at the flood of memories washing over him, Stiles had to bite back another sob. Tears were stinging in his eyes and there was a pain lingering beneath his ribcage and it was loud and agonizing and mind-numbing and suddenly the cold didn't seem to bother him anymore, as his body was solely focusing on the ache humming through his bones. That was what it meant to be part of the pack, right? Usually cradled in the safety of warm bodies and strong, sleek muscles, he now experienced the downside of being blood-bound to someone. Being cut off and tugged away from his pack was crippling and –shit, it felt like someone had carved out his heart with a spoon. And a fucking blunt one at that.

The sudden appearance of the Omega cut Stiles' musings short.

“I'm glad you're awake, little one,” he snarled by way of greeting as he waltzed in. “We need to talk.”

Stiles tried for sarcastic as he replied, but the pitiful state of his raw voice and with his body slumped into himself, he was pretty sure it came out more pathetic than cocky. “I live to make you happy, bro.”

“Oh, you will,” the Omega countered jauntily. “Sooner than later, if you ask me.” And with a swift motion he stepped into Stiles' space again, pressing close and showering the boy with the overwhelming sensation of being groped at and thoroughly emasculated again.

“You don't wanna wait until the honeymoon? _Wow_ , this evening is full of surprises,” Stiles spat, heart stuttering in his chest as he felt two large palms traveling up his flanks. The Omega seemed even more feral now that the moon was slowly on the rise and the pelt on his bare shoulders was thicker, his face contorted into a half-wolf, half-human mask.

“Wait for the surprise I have for you in my pants,” he rasped and the ensuing growling was so deafening and brutal it made Stiles jerk in his seat, fingers scrambling for purchase and wrists twisting violently until his skin was slick and dripping wet with blood.

 ♦ 

Mapping out a plan had turned out to be much more stressful than usual with Lydia's resolute voice reasoning with them all. But in the end they went with Isaac's suggestion and with a little help from Allison and Derek they managed to come up with a fairly good schedule within a matter of minutes. There was a quick moment of them hovering on the front porch of Derek's house, their shoulders bumping as their scents mingled in the crisp evening air, their breathing labored, bodies swaying towards each other like pendulums as they shared a close moment of bonding. The moon hung full and luscious above the darkening forest and Derek felt his wolf roaring, howling, clawing as he stepped away after a few heartbeats of shared closeness.

“Let's go,” he snarled before letting loose the beast inside his chest. Unclasping every restraint as he shifted into his true form, Derek felt his features morphing into something more powerful than any human could ever be, something feral and wild and something _angry_. With claws as sharp as razors and teeth just as deadly, with senses made to hunt and muscles strong enough to track down whatever prey his wolf longed for. Tonight, it was Omega flesh it thirsted after and with a last pointed look at his Betas he exchanged the peaceful slumber of the clearing in front of his house with the freezing, snow-cloaked darkness of the forest.

While running through the night, Derek tried his best to stick to the plan instead of just plowing through the woods like his wolf dared him to do. But there was more than just Stiles' life at the stake here, and he needed to be the Alpha his pack expected him to be, so he slowed down his frantic pace as he felt his Betas falling back. Scott and Allison to his right, Boyd, Erica and Isaac to his left, they rushed through the ice-crusted snow towards the point they assumed the Omega would wait for Derek.

'Cause that's what it was all about, right? It wasn't about kidnapping a fragile, annoying teenager to watch him break under the pressure. This was about getting under Derek's skin. It was about power, about dominance and territorial, predatory behavior. It was always like that, always about Derek. But it was the first time they had dared to use Stiles to get their way and in the breathless silence of the forest Derek vowed it would be the last time.

 ♦ 

The Omega had spent the last twenty minutes rutting against Stiles' thighs and lower abdomen, all but climbing in in the boy's lap and suffocating the bony teenager with his massive form. He was heavy and stank of rotten flesh and scat and Stiles was sure he would have gotten sick again if there was anything to throw up left inside his empty stomach. But instead he just kept on retching and choking up acidic saliva, his limbs having gone into reluctant submission minutes ago.

At some point the wolf had fed him half the bottle of water, bloodshot eyes a glowing yellow while he watched the boy's Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulped in long chugs. “Good boy,” he had drawled and Stiles had felt his stomach heave and churn again, ice cold spikes coiling down his spine at the praise. He just wanted to be elsewhere and with his eyes screwed shut, he pretended to be when the Omega resumed grinding his half-hard boner against Stiles' thigh, tearing at the frozen clothing and poking holes into the boy's skin with pointy claws whenever he got impatient. And he got impatient a lot.

The first thing Stiles heard after what felt like an eternity was a howl, low and guttural and threatening, and it startled him as well as the Omega. Body going rigid and muscles pulling taut, the shaggy werewolf finally let go of Stiles and scrambled to his feet.

“Looks like we're gonna have a guest,” he sneered as he let his eyes rake across the boy's bruised and bloodied face again before stalking to the corner where half of the roof had come down under the weight of the snow the night before. Ducking behind a pile of stone and broken shingles, toothy grin still in place, he hunkered down and out of Stiles' sight, waiting, ready to make a move at any second. A deadly move.

Stiles didn't exactly know what made him think Derek was coming for him, but something about the pain inside his chest slowly ebbing away told him the Alpha was close. More howling became audible, the pack responding one by one: Erica, Boyd, Scott –of course, Scotty was here– and Isaac after a beat of breathless silence. And then Stiles screamed, screamed at the top of his lungs and louder than ever before.

“ _Derek_! Be careful, he's waiting for you behind the door!” he sputtered, voice raw and broken in his dry throat, words falling like lead out of his mouth and into the keyed up silence. “I'm in here, but he's here, too! And he's huge and ugly and- Derek? He wants to kill you, Derek. Please don't come through that door!”

There was a deafening noise coming from the ceiling and next thing Stiles knew was Derek dropping from the collapsed roof and gracefully landing on the Omega's broad back, immediately strangling the thug. An outrageous growl left the Omega's lips and he choked, gasping as Derek squeezed his fingers hard around the thick neck. Eyes bugging out, the lone wolf's arms flailed out wide, claws uselessly swiping the air until he overcame his surprise and started to buck under Derek's weight.

The fight didn't last long. The Omega was broad, tall and muscle-bound, but Derek was smart and fast. He used the stranger's strength, let it work for him and dodged the heavy swings the Omega tried to land on him. Claws and teeth bared, Derek danced around the huge form of his enemy, taking in the way he moved and fought before he went for the kill. Surging forward, he launched himself against the Omega' chest, cutting him down with two forceful kicks against knees and stomach. Arms entangled as the thug tried to wrestle himself upright again, but Derek was already all over him, ferocious and merciless like a thunderstorm and just as unleashed. Unerringly, his claws found smooth flesh, tearing it open, and after a few breathless minutes silence settled over the scene, only one wolf staying upright while the other knelt in the dust, gasping, hands clasped around the gaping wound that sliced his throat open.

Eyes wide, Stiles found himself staring, unblinking and muted. He hadn't realized the tension that had pulled his muscles tight and only now, when allowed himself to take a deep inhale, did he feel it bleed out of him in a rush.

“Derek, I-” he managed to choke out before the Alpha was there, right there in Stiles' space. Beautiful, steadfast, fucked-up Derek had come for him and he was like a furnace, the heat of his body like a shock against Stiles' chilled skin. Shoving his face against the human's neck, Derek pushed close, and if there was a low whining sound escaping his throat neither of them could tell later.

“Stiles,” Derek huffed, breathing heavily into the teenager's skin, lips, nose and stubbled cheek rubbing against cold, bruised skin. “Stiles, you're all right.” His fingers snaked around the boy's hips, holding on tight for a moment before he started to fumble with the restraints.

“Yeah, I... kinda,” Stiles mumbled, pushing up into the Alpha's body just as eagerly, bucking and writhing against the ropes in an desperate attempt to get closer to the blazing heat Derek emanated. Quivering he buried his nose in the silky black strands of the wolf's hair, reveling in the familiar scent of pine needles, soap, clean sweat and _DerekDerekDerek._

“I'm sorry it took us so long,”

“S'okay, big guy,” Stiles replied, shudders wracking his body as he melted into Derek's form and it was only fair that he clasped his arms around the burning hot neck in front of his face as soon as his arms were freed, the boy holding on to the Alpha for dear life while his breath slowly slackened.

Derek –or the wolf inside his chest– whined again, a pained, high-pitched whimper and Stiles found comfort in it. “It's okay Derek, I'm good. It's just–”

“Don't say it's just a scratch,” the Alpha warned and for a moment he stilled completely, arms tightly locked around the human's fragile form, cradling him in the warmth of his body and slowly nosing along Stiles' jaw, letting his heat bleed down to the boy's chilled bones.

Stiles heard himself sigh at the sensation of Derek's heart pounding just as frantically as his own, their pulses skyrocketing together. The wolf's rough stubble was a stark contrast to the softness of the lips he continued to rub against Stiles' cold skin, gathering sweat and blood and ice water from the smooth surface.

“Are you in pain?” he grunted, voice low and still thick with– was it _anger_?

Stiles grimaced against Derek's temple. “Well, duh,” he managed to choke out before gasping at the feeling of the Alpha's hand wiggling beneath his shirt, warm fingers with blunt nails instead of pointy claws curling around his hip, gently thumbing along the prominent bone.

“Hold still,” Derek breathed into the blood-stained collar of Stiles' sweater and –oh, the pain pulsed away to the beat of their hearts the moment Derek's veins turned black. Time turned to molasses and Stiles lost track. With Derek so close, crowding into his space, pushing impossibly closer every second and whining like a wounded wolf, he felt his mind slip away and only Derek's low voice wrenched him out of the sluggish haze and back into the present again.

“Better?”

Stiles nodded. “Much better,” he confirmed and then it was his turn to whine quietly at the loss of warmth as Derek let go of him, dropping to his knees instead.

“Is he dead?” he asked into the silence as Derek worked to untie the teenager's throbbing ankles.

“Yes.” Derek's voice didn't waver.

Stiles scoffed. “Good.”

It turned out to be a bad idea to rush to his feet as soon as the ropes fell from his body, but Stiles couldn't help it. With his body being forced into this crippling position for what felt like forever and the lack of Adderall inside his veins, it was like releasing a spring. Moaning he staggered to his feet, head spinning, and immediately toppled over, cursing.

“For fuck's sake, Stiles,” Derek muttered as he got hold of the teenager's arm, pulling him close once more until their chests were aligned, bodies flush and eyes boring into each other. “Easy there, _easy_.”

“Patience,” Stiles replied breathily. “not really my strong suit.” Hesitantly leaning in, he rested his forehead against Derek's in an attempt to calm the trembling Alpha. He could feel the utter tension in Derek, the wolf threatening to claw to the surface again at any second, growling and pacing underneath the man's heaving ribcage. Derek hadn't shifted back yet and his clenched teeth glistened in the pale moonlight.

Stiles sighed. “I don't think I can walk,”

Derek nodded slowly in return, gently steadying the boy's swaying body. “It's all right. I got you.” He took in a shuddering breath before gathering Stiles close one last time, their ribs crashing together, warm palms cupping the boy's neck. “Can I carry you?”

“Yeah.”

And just like that Derek picked him up, muscles bunching and tendons rippling beneath Stiles' weak grip as his fingers scrambled for purchase. “Slide around,” the Alpha instructed gently and together they worked it out until all limbs were sorted and Stiles was safely mounted on Derek's back, arms circled around the wolf's neck, face smooshed into the soft hair at Derek's nape.

“Let's get out of here,” Derek snarled. Then he howled, a long, drawn-out sound in the night, answered by four resonating voices.

 ♦ 

The next hour faded into a blur of black and gray in front of Stiles' eyes. With his body hanging limp in the Alpha's grip, he was only faintly aware of the change of surrounding as they made their way through the forest, Scott on their heels, Ally to the left and Isaac close by. Boyd and Erica were ordered to stick around for another while to make sure the Omega's dead body was dealt with.

The night was cold and the sharp, crisp breeze threatened to dig its icy claws into Stiles' skin. But the boy had his personal furnace and Derek never slackened his grip, never faltered in his steps until they stopped in front of the Hale mansion next to the Camaro.

“Hospital,” Allison and Scott had breathed in unison and Stiles managed to pull a weak cry of protest from his chest.

“N-No,” he sputtered. “I just need to warm up and get some sleep.” But no one seemed to pay attention to him as he was manhandled into the sleek seats of the sports car, buckled up and the door slammed shut behind him.

Muffled voices oozed through the glass as Stiles dropped his head against the window and then he fell into darkness, eyes squeezed shut and body melting into the comfortable cushions of the passenger's seat.

Later he said someone had drugged him, but it was really just the exhaustion that knocked him out flat during the car ride. The hospital was loud and bright and Stiles wanted nothing more than to crawl into the soft embrace of Melissa McCall and stay there for the rest of the week. He didn't though, clinging to his dad instead as soon as the Sheriff appeared in the door frame, face troubled with sorrow and lips twisted in grief. With a sob he gathered his son into his arms, cradling him and speaking fondly as he checked with the nurse and doctors before snatching his kid away to bring him back to the safety of their house. According to the doctors, Stiles wasn't allowed to eat more than a thin soup, but he wasn't hungry anyway. His body longed for a few hours –scratch that, a whole week– in his bed and after a half-hour shower and gulping down two bottles of cold water, he let himself be tucked in by his dad.

“I love you, son,” the Sheriff mumbled as he pressed a warm, dry kiss on his kid's forehead before leaving for the night. Stiles didn't know which excuse Scott had found to justify Stiles' twenty-eight hour absence –and frankly he didn't give two shits right now, really– but apparently it had been convincing enough and after what felt like an eternity he heard his father settle into his own bedroom down the hall.

Sleep came easily, and wrapped into the soft cocoon of two blankets and a hot water bottle by his feet, Stiles drifted away, a giant burrito of warmth and content sighs.

 ♦ 

Despite his utter exhaustion, Stiles blinked awake three hours later. His mind was still spinning like a merry-go-round and after watching the dark ceiling for a few moments he decided to get up. There was a hole inside his stomach and it was gaping and infinite and he needed some Cheetos, like right now. Careful so as not to disturb his father's sleep, Stiles uncurled his limbs from the sweat-soaked sheets and got up, swaying slightly in the dark. His muscles were still sore and strained from remaining tied to a chair for about twenty-seven hours, but they worked, and quietly Stiles tiptoed to his closet, pulling the bottom drawer open to reveal a bunch of half-empty junk food bags.

“Aaaah, my old friends,” Stiles whispered as he fished a package of chips out of the depths, ripping it open where he stood and inhaling the greasy, salty scent. “How I've missed you.” And with his stomach growling like a goddamn Alpha, Stiles dove into the bag, stuffing his mouth with a handful of cheese-powdered goods.

A moan leaving the boy's mouth as he chewed hastily, Stiles turned around to stagger towards his bed again when he noticed a strange shadow hovering near the tree line of the neighbor's garden, a tall, bulky form hunkered down just behind his dad's freshly painted fence.

“No,” Stiles whispered, mouth going dry, and he choked around the mouthful of Cheetos. The Omega was dead, Derek had said– _shit._

Scrambling frantically onto the mattress and gripping his phone tight, Stiles slammed his fingers against the buttons before hitting 'send'.

**To: Derek [03:02am]**

_Please tell me that's you outside my window_

His phone chimed only seconds later, display flashing white under the boy's intense gaze. His chest had gone incredibly tight and he hadn't swallowed the last bits of chips, salt swamping his throat and sending him coughing as he opened the message.

**From: Derek [03:02am]**

_It's me_

Stiles was tempted to hurl his cell against the wall, relief rushing through his veins. His heart was still jackrabbiting against his ribcage and there was an agonized scream stuck inside his throat, threatening to spill the barely chewed and only half-swallowed Cheetos into his damp sheets. With a snort he typed out another text:

**To: Derek [03:03am]**

_get your ass in here or leave now, creeper_

The quiet click of the window being pushed open caught Stiles' attention less than half a minute later and with eyes wide and doe-like he watched the Alpha climb in, feet landing gracefully on the carpet before Derek straightened up. He was still wearing his leather jacket over the black sweater, both stained with streaks of Stiles' tacky blood and caked to Derek's skin.

“Someone took lessons in stalking from his creepy uncle, huh?” Stiles whispered as he grabbed the bottle from his nightstand, taking a deep swig and finally washing down the remaining bits of salty chips.

Derek ducked his head, dark lashes fanning against his cheeks. “I was... worried,” he mumbled, barely audible, and hunched his shoulders in a sheepish gesture, hands crammed into the pockets of his jeans.

Stiles mouth fell open. “Worried?” he repeated, dumbstruck, as his fingers fidgeted idly with the label of the water bottle resting in his lap.

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure you're okay... you know, no panic attacks or... nightmares.” Derek's voice was soft as was his gaze, pale green eyes almost shyly searching the boy's bruised and battered face for any sign of discomfort.

“Dude, _you_ almost gave me stroke,” Stiles whined, a shiver coiling down his spine at the sight of the wolf firmly rooted in place in front of his bed, cheeks tinged pink and lower lip sucked between blunt teeth.

Derek shrugged. “I can leave if you–”

“No,” Stiles blurted out and for once the frantic beat of his heart slowed down, thoughts coming to rest inside his head. “Stay.” It was a plea.

Derek's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed before even realizing that never before he'd been so sure about something in his life. “You can... I dunno, join me and we can watch a movie or you make me some of your infamous meals from scratch? I'm sure there's still plenty of food in the fridge.” He pulled a sour face. “Okay, minus the things I bought before getting kidnapped by an ugly Omega.”

For a split second Derek's eyes flashed red. “I don't think that's a good idea, Stiles,” he murmured softly, settling cross-legged onto the carpet, shoulders hunched and back leaning against the wall just below the window. “You're not allowed food until breakfast–” Derek's eyes darted pointedly towards the bag of Cheetos on the mattress– “and you need to rest.”

“So I sleep and you're going to do _what_ exactly?” Stiles mused, teeth worrying his lower lip as he tried to catch another glimpse of scarlet eyes in the dark.

Derek shrugged. He didn't seem to have an answer for the teenager. Silence stretched between them until Stiles decided that he was too tired to argue and too lazy to stir questions he might not want to be answered in the darkness of his room with his father down the hall. Such as why the Omega had thought Stiles belonged to Derek? Or why Derek had been all touchy-feely the second he got hold of Stiles? Or why he was still wearing the blood-stained clothes, drenched in the boy's scent?

“Alright fine,” he croaked after shutting his thoughts off. “I'm gonna try and get some sleep. You do... whatever.” He waved his hand around in a vague gesture, including his laptop and the bookshelf and –yeah, pretty much everything in the room.

Derek nodded.

“Wake me in two weeks or never.”

Biting back a chuckle, Derek remained silent.

“I'll pass out now.” And just like that Stiles fell back to sleep, mind going blank and body melting into the mattress the second he let Derek's scent wash over him: leather, pine needles and clean soap flooding his senses like a morning in the woods.

When Stiles woke the next time in the late afternoon, Derek was long gone, not even a faint whiff of the Alpha remaining to linger in the muggy air. He was alone and though he didn't mind sleeping in for once, he quickly grew tired of the silence. Wiggling out of the sheets, Stiles got up to shuffle downstairs and look for his father. After being forced into the company of an insane Omega he needed someone reasonable to talk to right now, right?

 ♦ 

Stiles didn't see Derek for almost two weeks after the incident. Spending the days in the comfortable warmth of his home, the teenager felt no urge to step outside and into the crisp cold. And really now, who was he trying to fool? His dad wouldn't have let him anyway.

There had been talk, tough talk in the silence of the kitchen, and Stiles was only half-certain the Sheriff believed the story they had invented to cover the existence of supernatural beings in Beacon Hills for the time being. But things went back to normal and soon only the fading bruises and itching scratches where the Omega's claws had torn his skin open reminded the Stilinski household of what had happened. Scott visited everyday, bringing food as a peace offering that wasn't necessary but most definitely welcome, and they stayed in Stiles' bed for hours, playing Halo and Diablo III and Battlefield in Co-op mode until their fingers cramped and the screen blurred in front of their red-rimmed eyes. Some days Allison would join them but mostly it was just Scott and Stiles and Stiles and Scott and it was good. It felt right and brought a shred of normalcy back into both their troubled lives.

Erica and Isaac came around on a Sunday for a movie night, arms packed with take-out, and Lydia called that night to yell at Stiles for a good ten minutes before sobbing and telling him that she was going to kick his ass for getting himself kidnapped as soon as she got back. For almost two weeks life was good and if there was a pounding ache, throbbing inside Stiles' chest and clawing its way through the layers of muscle, bone and flesh he wouldn't tell anyone.

His dreams however, remained dark and full of choked tears. He pushed them away as soon as the sun came up, no matter how pale and weak its light was in late January, but sometimes it seemed like some of the darkness would linger, pestering his thoughts throughout the days.

Some nights after being woken up by his own muffled screams, Stiles would grip his cell tight, fingers hovering over the buttons as he stared at Derek's name, words sitting on the tip of his tongue, threatening to pour into speaker the second he'd hit ' _call_ '. But in the end, he never dared a move, never sent the thoroughly typed out messages. Derek never called either, never showed up again, and for some reason it bothered Stiles.

Yeah, there were still questions hanging between them, questions that needed to be answered. And really, that was the _only_ reason for the teenager to shimmy into a clean pair of pants and a fresh sweater before leaving the house with the Jeep's key dangling from his fingers on a gloomy Wednesday afternoon.

The weather had shaped up nasty during the two weeks he'd spent huddled into the blankets of his room, and the road to the Hale preserve was slippery and slick with slush. But the Jeep's tires were new and had a tight grip on the dirt as it rumbled down the alley before coming to a halt next to the glossy black of the Camaro. However, Erica's car was missing and Stiles internally groaned. Fine. Perfect. _Excellent._

Huffing out a breath Stiles climbed up the stairs leading to the porch and for a moment he was tempted to use the spare key which he knew was hidden under one of the loose panels. If Derek was home, he would be aware of the teenager's presence anyway with his perfect hearing and perfect smelling skills and perfect _everything_ and –wait, where was _that_ coming from?

In the end, the boy decided on going the civilized way as he pressed his fingers against the doorbell, startling a soft ring in the bowels of the big mansion. There was no light behind the windows and for a second Stiles debated with himself if he should just _leave_. It was a stupid idea to come out here when he could be sitting in front of his TV right now, a hot chocolate in reach and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Derek was probably out with his Betas anyway, hunting or rubbing their bodies all over the preserve to establish dominance.

Stiles was about to turn on his heels when he caught shuffling inside the hallway, the door being ripped open seconds later to reveal a dozy Derek Hale, complete with disheveled hair and sleep lines running down his cheeks. Dressed in sweats and a gray Henley he looked like the epitome of the word cozy and Stiles wanted nothing more than to crawl under the fabric of his clothes and –what the fuck, Stilinski?

“Stiles?” Derek mumbled, all bleary-eyed and adorable.

“Yeah, hi, um, Derek.”

Derek blinked slowly. “Are you okay? Did something –are you all right?”

Nodding, Stiles shifted on his feet and if there was a shiver running down his spine it was _definitely_ caused by the crisp air. Yeah, totally. “No– I mean, yes. Yeah, I'm peachy. I was just wondering if I can come in to... um, talk?”

Wordlessly Derek pushed the door open a little wider and his body out of the way to make room for Stiles to step in. “Make yourself at home,” he offered as he made his way down the hall, probably to take a piss.

“Thanks,” Stiles uttered, slipping out of his coat and mud-soaked shoes before strolling into the wide living area. Derek had done a fucking awesome job of reconstructing and refurbishing the once burned-down Hale mansion, and only the skeletal carcass of the unfinished shed in the backyard remained of the furious fire so many years ago.

Flopping down on the comfortable sofa, Stiles instinctively searched for the warm spot Derek's body had etched into the soft cushions when he had been sound asleep under the fleece blanket only seconds ago, probably snoring a bit.

“Tea or coffee?” Derek yelled from the kitchen, startling the boy.

“What about hot chocolate?” Stiles replied with a grin, practically _hearing_ the wolf roll his eyes at the suggestion.

“Coffee then,” was the gruff replied, followed by an exaggerated sigh.

Stiles didn't bother to protest as he curled into the blanket instead, face smooshed into one of the pillows and body relishing the scent, warmth and presence of the Alpha, the faint ache inside his chest slowly draining away.

Derek returned to the living room with a scowl and two mugs of coffee, one black with ridiculous amounts of sugar just the way Stiles liked it and the other whitened with milk. He didn't mention the way Stiles had taken his spot, just flopped down next to the boy as he took a small sip.

The light inside the living room was soft and warm just as the rest of the room, the sound of rain pouring against the large floor-to-ceiling windows only adding to the coziness.

“So, what is it you want to talk about?” Derek asked after a few minutes of companionable silence. His face was open, unguarded, and with his feet tucked under his thighs he sat cross-legged, facing Stiles, hands carefully resting in his lap after he'd placed their mugs on the coffee table.

Stiles managed not to flinch at the sudden reminder of why he had come out here in the first place. He was perfectly fine with spending the evening just like that, curled up on Derek's sofa, toes wiggled underneath the werewolf's thigh and nose burrowed in the soft blanket. But apparently Derek seemed to have other plans and Stiles straightened up slowly, sighing.

“I, um... I wanted to talk to you about–” he made a vague gesture towards his face, fingers pointing at the small cuts and purplish-yellow bruises blossoming on both his cheeks and temple– “the Omega-thing.”

Derek's eyes flickered red for a long second, then he nodded. “Okay,” Reaching up to comb his fingers through his disheveled mane, he paused half-way through the movement. “What do you want to know?”

“A lot, actually. Like if I have to expect this to become a monthly thing. Cause I'll definitely start carrying around mints then and–”

“Stiles,” Derek cut in, voice still gentle but with a firmness to it that had the boy shiver.

Stiles snorted. “Alright, fine, I'm serious,” he promised and sat up some more, wiggling around until he was facing the Alpha, their bodies angled towards each other. It felt like a tidal pull, like magnets aligning.

Taking a huge breath, Stiles mentally steeled himself against being turned down before he let out the question out in a rush. “I know it's kinda stupid, but why did the Omega think I'm _yours_?”

Against all expectations Derek's face didn't fall or shift into his trademark scowl as he shrugged. “Easy, because he thought you're my mate.”

“And... um, why's that?”

“Mainly because you smell like me,” Derek explained, lazily scratching the back of his neck and taking another swig of his coffee. “Because we... you know, hang around.”

“Yeah, I get that. But I also hang around with Scott. Like, a lot. More than you and me.”

Derek ducked his head again as the faintest of blushes crept up his cheeks and – _god_ , was that a tiny hitch in his voice? “It's... different, Stiles. You're human, we're wolves and scent is something very–”

“Instinctive?” Stiles suggested, eyes never leaving the hint of red staining the Alpha's cheeks.

“Yeah, but it's more than that.”

Stiles waited a few heartbeats before he waved his hand, toes poking into the hard flesh of Derek's thigh. “Go on.”

The wolf sighed. “It's _important_. When a wolf finds his mate he... scent-marks him or her. It's like leaving a hickey, but much more distinctive. It's a warning for other wolves and...”

“Yeah?”

“An invitation for the mate.”

Stiles licked his lips. “So it's like the werewolf way of wooing someone?”

“Kind of,” Derek admitted, gaze still drawn to his lap as he fidgeted with a loose thread on the seam of his sweats.

“Wow,” Stiles mumbled, heat rising to his cheeks and neck. “And I thought you woo people with leaving small, dead rodents on their doorstep.”

Derek tried really hard to roll his eyes at the comment, but Stiles didn't miss the small tug of his lips as he bit down a smile.

“So, the Omega picked me because you... scent-marked me?” the boy concluded after a few seconds of restless silence.

“And because you were available, I guess.” Derek shrugged, the tips of his ears burning bright red now.

“Why?”

“Because you're a moron and pick up your groceries at ass o'clock at a shady 24h supermarket?” Derek scoffed, fingers flying up to card through his hair. His eyes were narrowing on the pale column of Stiles' neck as the boy tilted his head to the side.

Stiles didn't know what to make out of... _this_ , but he knew that he needed to know. “No,” he replied firmly, voice unwavering and eyes glued to the Alpha's face. “I meant why did you scent-mark me?”

“Because... that's not something I can control, okay?” the Alpha sputtered, chest heaving and nostrils flaring anxiously. His eyes were wide when they met Stiles', pupils dilating and scarlet bleeding into pale green. “It just... happened. You were here and I fell asleep on your shoulder and –for crying out loud, Stiles, are you really that blind?”

There was a beat of deafening silence and Stiles felt like he was falling. With no room left in his chest for something as mundane as lungs, he gasped under the onslaught of feelings, thoughts and memories.

“I'm, um... I'm your mate?”

Derek's jaw clenched tight, but he nodded, defeated. Guilt came off him in waves and even Stiles' human senses noticed it. “It's not... I didn't... _choose_ you. It's my wolf... I don't know how to explain.”

Stiles really, really wanted to feel hurt at the notion, but he couldn't find it in himself. Heart and belly fluttering, he leaned in closer, knobby knees knocking against Derek's. “If the choice would have been yours to make,” he made a deliberate pause, wetting his lips nervously, “would you still have chosen me?” he asked, voice low.

The words weighed heavy in the silence and when Derek looked up again, his face was twisted in something close to pain. Eyes wide and glazed over, his lips quivered and suddenly he looked so young, so unlike the big, bad Alpha he pretended to be half the time. Every trace of bitterness had vanished, and his features looking vulnerable and beautiful. Beautiful and wild and untamed and with a slow nod he sent Stiles flying.

“Yeah,” Derek wheezed softly, then louder. “Yes, I would've chosen you. I _do_.”

Stiles beamed, a smile that lit up the whole room. “Good,” he nodded and let himself fall back again, body squirming on the cushions until he was curled into himself again, blanket securely draped over him and nose buried in the pillow. Feeling laughter bubbling up in his chest, he pressed a content sigh into the fabric.

“Good,” he murmured again and then patted the space next to his body as his eyes fluttered shut. “Let's get some sleep, Alpha mine, and then we'll talk some more. What do you think?”

Derek's voice was a low, quiet rumble in the expectant silence. “Fair enough.”

The cushions dipped under the weight of the wolf as he slipped between the human and the sofa's back rest until their bodies lay flush against each other, back to chest, their feet intertwined. Derek was a furnace and Stiles didn't complain, not even when the Alpha pushed his scratchy beard against the delicate skin of the boy's neck, inhaling, exhaling, lips rubbing across the smooth surface in a deep, contented hum.

They were okay. It was awkward and new and exciting, but they were okay. They would manage. It would take some time until Stiles adjusted, but it would be all right. And with a pair of strong, warm palms skimming down his flanks, Stiles hesitantly settled into the Alpha's gentle embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my beautiful and amazing friend [Pammy](http://awederek.tumblr.com/) as her reward for winning first prize in my ficlet giveaway. Her prompt/idea was: 
> 
> "How about the pack trying to stop a rogue Omega killing innocents in the woods? The Omega goes for Stiles maybe? Because why go to the Alpha (Derek) when he could bring the Alpha to him by killing his mate (which he won’t, and Stiles is unaware that he is Derek’s mate)" 
> 
> \--and since I live, breathe and die for hurt/comfort I just went with it. I haven't written Sterek in quite a while and once again I have to ask myself: why? 'Cause typing this out made me incredibly happy and I'm determined to not lose track again so easily. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. **Comments are love.**


End file.
